


A Touch of Deviancy

by Ilye



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fingon really gets off on being tied up, Half-Cousin Incest, M/M, PWP, kind of, self-indulgence for No-shame November, swearing and general coarse language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 19:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5303465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilye/pseuds/Ilye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Valinor under the lights of the Trees, Maedhros is still discovering new facets to Fingon and Fingon earns himself a new nickname.</p><p>Resurrected for No-Shame November.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Touch of Deviancy

“Do you think anybody knows about us?”

Fingon’s soft voice broke through Maedhros’ concentration. He looked up from his book. “My brothers know. Is that a problem?”

“No, no…” Fingon looked distracted, like he did not believe himself. He jumped when Maedhros placed a hand on his shoulder. “I think my father might know.”

“Ah.” Maedhros squeezed Fingon’s shoulder, then leaned back in his chair. “I have no idea if _that_ might be a problem."

“Neither do I. I don’t want to…” Fingon paused, glanced away, then back to Maedhros with a plea for help in his eyes. “I don’t know… Do you think we should tell him? Or… or end it?”

Maedhros held his breath for a moment. “Do you _want_ to end it?” he asked. He was impressed by his level tone despite the sudden ricochet of his pulse in his throat. Fingon’s emphatic No! in response did nothing except make his heart beat even harder. “Then we should explain, before he guesses and thinks badly of us for hiding it from him.”

Although Fingon nodded, Maedhros could see he remained unconvinced. He leaned forwards again and brushed his knuckles along the hard-set jaw.

“What’s wrong? It would be an improvement on having to sneak around all the time, wouldn’t it?”

Fingon shrugged and would not meet his eyes. “I’m worried about what they’ll think,” he said softly. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Nobody ever takes me seriously as it is – they think I’m still a child.” Maedhros scoffed and tried to turn Fingon’s worried face towards him, but Fingon pulled away and stood up abruptly.

“Don’t you laugh at me too, Maitimo!”

“I am not laughing at you.” Maedhros regarded him as calmly as he could, though his unease from the thought of having to break off their relationship still lingered. He forced a smile. “I was just thinking that I know you are definitely not a child.”

He wasn’t sure if his bawdy comment went ignored or just plain unnoticed. “You may know that,” Fingon huffed, “but they think I’m still the Elfling next to you and Makalaurë and Tyelko.” A pause, followed by a much younger voice. “I’m not even sixty yet and you’re so much older – I don’t want them to think badly of you.”

Maedhros stood up too. “Now you just sound like you’re making excuses.” He planted one hand on his hip and ran the other through his hair as he half-turned away, but paused to give Fingon an exasperated look from the corner of his eye before completing the motion. “What do you think they will say – that just because I’m older than you, I tied you to the bed and had my wicked way with you?”

Silence. He looked back over his shoulder. Fingon had gone very still and swallowed visibly under Maedhros' gaze. Slowly, Maedhros turned around again. He looked Fingon up and down, then inclined his head. “Oh, _really_?” He felt a smirk ooze across his face as the colour rose in Fingon’s cheeks. “Or is that just in your own head?” He stepped closer and looked Fingon in the eye before he dropped his head and whispered in his ear, “What’s the matter, Finno? Are your breeches too tight?”

Fingon scowled and spun away from him. “Don’t change the subject,” he spluttered. “Don’t make light of this. We’re cousins, and even if only by half some would think that’s wrong. What if I’m not allowed to see you any more?”

Softening again, Maedhros stepped up behind him and laid his hands on the tense shoulders. “Come on, be sensible,” he soothed, giving a reassuring squeeze. “They cannot stop us from seeing each other. As you say, we are both adults. The best thing is to just talk as such to your father and convince him that we’re going about this in an adult manner.”

Fingon looked back over his shoulder through the cagework of his dangling braids, then laid his head against Maedhros’ neck and nodded slowly. “You’re right,” he murmured, but did not finish voicing the thought that was in his eyes. Instead he laced their fingers together and drew Maedhros’ arms around him. Maedhros held him, kissed his cheek and let him think.

After a moment, Fingon drew a deep breath and Maedhros felt him square his shoulders as if in resolution. He inclined his head expectantly as Fingon turned in his arms.

“Very well, then, after dinner,” Fingon said simply. He kissed Maedhros gently. “Let’s tell my father how much I love you.”

~~~

“I suppose that could have gone worse.”

Maedhros glanced at Fingon as they climbed the staircase side-by-side and bumped him gently with his shoulder. “A lot worse,” he agreed, finally glad for some conversation after Fingon's stunned silence through the corridors around Fingolfin's study. “By your earlier fretting we could have been damned, doomed or exiled – I think a request for discretion outside the immediate family is perfectly reasonable by comparison. Come, Finno...” He stopped at the top of the stairs and caught Fingon by the hand, using his momentum to swing him around so that they were facing. “Your father doesn’t mind! Why still so gloomy?”

“My father doesn’t mind because he doesn’t understand,” Fingon muttered. He pressed an absent kiss to Maedhros’ knuckles and then carried on walking to his bedroom door a short distance away. “He thinks this is just some kind of dalliance. He hasn’t fully gauged its depth.”

“It’s only his way of adapting.” Maedhros jogged a couple of steps to catch up with him. “He will understand, in time.” He stopped and tilted a smile at Fingon, who was standing in the open doorway with his shoulder jammed against the frame. “Well, aren’t you going to invite me in now that I don’t have to pretend to keep a guest room and climb through your window?”

Fingon exhaled a shaky laugh. “When you put it like that…” he returned, his face lighting up as the meaning of his father’s ratification began to sink in. “Yes. Would you like to come inside?”

Maedhros let him finish – just. Thrilling at the freedom, he stole the last word from Fingon’s mouth and crushed their lips together, propelling them the few essential steps backwards so he could shut the door. Fingon’s laugh rumbled through him and Maedhros smiled. Relief coloured their kisses with an unfamiliar kind of vigour and, as they pressed together, Maedhros could feel the keenness in the strong body. He responded with tongue, nipped lips and bruisingly firm hands. Fingon absorbed his enthusiasm and yielded to any push Maedhros made, so that a few breathless minutes later they tumbled into a tangle on the bed.

The delicious scene of Fingon sprawled, dishevelled, all glittering braids and flexing muscle, filled Maedhros’ view as he slipped a leg over the slim hips and started to nibble along his neck. He arched into the large hands that smoothed up his back in encouragement and let his own wander to the fastenings of the tunic covering the broad chest below him. Fingon was already trembling underneath him. As Maedhros’ lips found his jaw, he gritted his teeth and hissed quietly in pleasure.

“You can make a noise now, you know,” Maedhros purred. Those words felt good in his mouth, like a licence to be at liberty. He trailed his fingers along Fingon’s sides and let one hand slide underneath the loosened tunic. “Relax and enjoy yourself.”

Fingon laughed breathlessly. “Oh, if you insist,” he murmured back, then Maedhros’ fingers flicked across a nipple peaked under his shirt and he let his eyes slide closed with a groan louder than Maedhros was used to hearing. Maedhros grinned, unseen, and took his chance: before Fingon drew another breath, his wrists were pinned above his head in one of Maedhros’ hands whilst the other whipped out the belt from his tunic.

“What – what are you doing?” Fingon gasped, his eyes suddenly wide open again. He struggled against Maedhros, but could not get leverage against the cleverly positioned weight on top of him.

“I thought I told you to relax and enjoy yourself?” Maedhros whispered into his ear. He finished knotting the belt and tugged to test it – purely for show, but he liked the way it made Fingon’s throat convulse as he swallowed. “I am tying you to the bed and having my wicked way with you, as if that weren’t already clear as Manwë’s breeze.” He grinned into Fingon’s shock-addled face, then leaned in and kissed him hard.

Fingon returned the kiss with desperation, teeth catching on lips that sucked to bruise and tongues struggling to stake claim. “When..? I thought..? How did you..?” he struggled out between breaths, and then finally groaned, “Ah, Russa, you have no idea…”

Sitting up again, Maedhros schooled his features into polite curiosity. “I have no idea of what?” he asked, holding Fingon’s heavy-lidded gaze as he finished undoing his tunic. They both knew he knew, but the promise of hearing it in Fingon’s own words made his pulse thunder in his ears.

His fingers found Fingon's stiff nipples again and played through the shirt. “Tell me.” Fingon shuddered. He moaned and tugged against his bonds, but they did not loosen. Maedhros leaned close so he could swipe his tongue along wet, parted lips. "Fear not, you are well tied-up." Fingon turned his head to catch a kiss, but Maedhros ducked out of reach and added, "Tied up just like you wanted to be, I believe? Look at this!" He outlined the bulge in Fingon’s straining breeches with teasing fingers. “So hard already…”

"Yes..." A sound halfway between a laugh and a sob rippled off Fingon’s lips. “You have no idea how much I have wanted you – my _cousin_ …” He paused to lick his lips and grind his hips up into the pressure of Maedhros’ hand, “...my _male_ cousin – to tie me to the bed and fuck me however he pleases.”

“You really are quite the deviant, aren't you, hmm? However I please?” Maedhros used his free hand to cup Fingon’s chin and he softly kissed his cheek, whispering, "I guessed the rest, but not that part.” He quelled his amusement and let his breath drift across Fingon’s skin. “Then we shall do slow, and tender, and –”

“Fine!” Fingon’s groan of frustration caused Maedhros’ head to snap back with a whip-crack laugh. “I want you to fuck me hard and fast enough that I’ll feel it for days. Does that make you happy?”

Triumph tingled through Maedhros and mingled with his own arousal. “Ah, beloved,” he grinned, full of promise. “That sounds more like _my_ deviant.” He kissed Fingon again, feeling urgency scald them both as he now began to discard his own clothing. The writhe of his lover’s taut, restrained muscle underneath him sent his consciousness dizzying inwards and he eventually had to break the kiss so he could concentrate on removing his shirt. Fingon made a noise of protest and strained towards him.

“Impatient?” Maedhros smirked as he paused to slide his own unlaced breeches down his legs and discarded them on the floor. The smirk dissolved into a quiet groan as he took himself in hand.

Fingon’s eyes ticked from Maedhros’ face to further down and back again. “I’ve waited this long,” he sighed, his appetite clear on his face. Maedhros raised an eyebrow at him and closed his eyes as he stroked himself, at which point he added, “But it would be nice if you got the fuck on with it!”

“Oh, well, when you put it like that...” Maedhros held still as Fingon leaned towards him seeking lip contact, but taunted him with a nip instead of a kiss and then withdrew, leaving him tugging against his ties. A dark laugh flew from Maedhros’ throat and straight into Fingon’s face, dancing just out of his reach. “How can I refuse such eagerness?”

He waited for a heartbeat, just enough to frustrate a low growl from Fingon, then delivered another sharp nip to a pouting lower lip as he reached out and tore sharply at the last few fastenings on Fingon’s shirt so that it hung open off his shoulders. He paused again, looked steadily into hungry grey eyes, then ripped at the remaining fabric so that he could remove the shirt entirely.

“You’re doing a damned good job so – ah!” Fingon’s words came through gritted teeth but were cut off by a gasp; Maedhros’ fingernails had found his biceps, flexing uselessly above his head, and scraped red trails into the pale skin. Fingon twitched and twisted but could not get away and his voice descended into a shaky groan when Maedhros’ fingers continued down his sides and groped bruisingly at his hips.

With minimal attention to the lacings, Maedhros yanked Fingon’s breeches open and dragged them down willing legs. Fingon’s breath rasped an erratic staccato, evolving into a drawn-out moan when Maedhros’ palm enclosed his erection and worked roughly up and down. Maedhros’ patience had already worn thin, but it snapped entirely when Fingon spread his legs and arched up against him in desperation for Maedhros to t _ouch him, more, anywhere_...

As Maedhros groped with his spare hand for the salve that he knew Fingon kept under the pillow, he felt legs wrap around his waist and ground their hips close. He withdrew his hand with a generous palmful, slicked his way along one heavy thigh to hook it over his shoulder, then slid back again, higher, deeper. His teeth found the firm, twitching muscle on the inside of Fingon's knee as he worked the salve into all the important places. Then, finally, Fingon crowed his delight as Maedhros drove up into him.

The tight heat rapidly unravelled Maedhros’ thoughts but, as he slammed into his receptive lover, he decided he could really get behind the idea of Fingon restrained and enjoying it and desperate for _him_. Fingon used the bulk of his shoulders to pull himself up against his bonds and gained some leverage to meet Maedhros’ motion, driving them deeper and hotter and closer and closer.

Maedhros’ oiled hand found Fingon’s erection again and held it so that it slid through his grasp in time to their movements. Fingon made that strange laughing-sobbing sound again and bucked his hips erratically, then cried out as his spine bowed and his muscles strained and he spilled himself across his belly. Maedhros followed him swiftly, his teeth again sinking into Fingon’s thigh as he came, leaving a mark that would linger for days.

Sweat and exhaustion filmed them both as they sprawled together, Maedhros with his head on Fingon’s chest and his red hair spread out like fire. After a few long moments, Fingon heaved a satisfied sigh.

“You are always so much better than I imagine,” he murmured, his words thick and slightly slurred. Maedhros heard the smile in his voice and lifted his head to kiss him. “But,” Fingon added when they broke apart again, “You can untie me now. It wasn’t part of the fantasy to be left trussed up all night.”

Maedhros cocked an eyebrow at him. “You mean you don’t want another go later on?”

A thoughtful expression spread across Fingon’s face and he looked up from inspecting the violent red scratches along his biceps. “Perhaps we'll see how easily you can surprise me when I’m expecting you,” he said after some consideration, then grinned at the dare that Maedhros could feel lighting his own eyes.

“I don’t reckon you’ll put up much of a fight now you’ve got a taste of what you wanted, Deviant,” Maedhros whispered into his ear and savoured Fingon’s resulting shudder as he reached up to unfasten the belt.

Fingon rose to the challenge. “Try me.” Maedhros chuckled, then kissed him again. Languid limbs entwined, they settled together more comfortably.

Sleep was just on the brink of stealing Maedhros' consciousness when a noise and a muffled voice next door made him lift his head again. He gave a meaningful nod towards Turgon's room and said with a slight cough, “I think your brother might know as well now."

Fingon groaned and buried his face in Maedhros’ hair. “Now _that_ I think might be a problem.”


End file.
